Princess at Sea (2 page)

Duncan had always looked good—having a roguish mien that went well with his slight build, wide shoulders, and narrow waist—but now he'd accented it with a modest show of wealth that made him downright attractive. And even worse? He knew it.

The self-proclaimed cheat met my eye, his lips curving into a sly smile when he realized I was watching him again. “Pay the table or fold,” he said, his casual voice matching the soft teasing in his eyes. Flushing, I pushed one of the sweets we were using as wagers to the center with the rest. Taking up a card, I stifled a start when I realized he hadn't discarded into the pile but somewhere on his person.
Chull bait, I missed it.
If I lost now, I deserved it.

The sound of my sister and her new husband's argument suddenly grew louder, and I jumped at the loud bang from the stern of the boat. They grew muffled again, and a shadow came from the depths of the back of the boat, the confident, swaying movement telling me it was Haron. Going sideways in places to navigate the narrow aisle, he entered the small common room at the base of the hatch's stairs. Sun-weathered face creased in irritation, the
Sandpiper
's first mate stomped up the ladder, his shadow briefly eclipsing Duncan's and my game. From him came a steady, irreverent mutter about it being damn foolish to have women on the water and how we were all going to die for it and that it wouldn't be his fault.

The soft touch on my bare foot as Duncan stretched his long legs jerked my attention back. In the instant I had been distracted, Duncan moved the card under his sleeve to a more secure location. I didn't see it, but I knew that was what happened when he made a show of stretching, proving there was nothing under his arm at all. His cap had shifted position, though, and I would bet all my caramels that was where it had gone.

Irate I'd missed it, I nevertheless kept my face impassive. Having allowed Duncan to distract me like that was inexcusable.

“Are you going to discard, or not?” he asked, a hint of exasperation hiding his deceit.

Eying the inculpable man, I slowly put one of my sweets into my mouth.

“Hey!” Amusement lifted the corners of his lips. “You aren't supposed to eat them unless you win them.”

I arched my eyebrows. “Or I catch you.”

For an instant, surprise showed, then his jaw clenched. “Burning chu pits,” he swore, hunching into himself and looking away. With abrupt motions, he began gathering his cards.

“Duncan, wait,” I said, suddenly sorry when he snatched the cards from me. “I only saw it the once. Just the one you put under your sleeve. Everything else was perfect. And the only reason I knew to look for it was because you kept distracting me.”

His brown eyes pinched. “You
saw
me move it?”

I nodded, wishing now I had swallowed my pride and kept my mouth shut.

“It's the cold,” he said, looking at his left hand and flexing it. Thin lips pursed, he jammed the cards into the hard-leather box he kept them in. I said nothing, feeling guilty. It wasn't the cold—the warm current that bathed the coast kept snow from lingering, especially here on the water—it was the poison that still remained in his hand.

The not-so-long-ago prick from my hairpin had been an accident, but I still felt as if it had been my fault. I had been fleeing a palace takeover, and as a cheat running with me intent upon regaining a portion of the coins I had fairly tricked from him, he hadn't known I carried poison, the weapon of choice in the ancient sect of hidden power I belonged to. He was lucky to have survived it, actually, seeing as he was overly sensitive to punta venom.

I reached to touch his sun-browned hand. I didn't know why. I hated his cheating, and here I was, telling him it was all right. My father would have said it was because I cared more about Duncan's feelings than what was right and that I shouldn't allow myself to be charmed like a fishwife or I'd end up one. A fine ending for a Costenopolie princess, even if she had been bought into the royal family.

Yes, bought as a decoy, unknowingly raised thinking I was the crown princess until a suitor bent on claiming everything some damned Red Moon prophesy promised brought out the ugly truth prematurely. Looking for answers, I had fled, finding not only the real heir, but that the kingdom's chancellor, Kavenlow, had secretly raised me to succeed him in his position as player. My crushing disappointment that I wasn't to rule the people I loved had easily slipped into delight when I found I'd rule them by stealth as Kavenlow now did in a continentwide game of hidden conquest even the royals did not suspect.

The prophesy, incidentally, had been fake, concocted by Kavenlow to ensure his successor would be raised knowing the protocol and studies of a princess, and it had been so full of romantic tripe as to choke the most quixotic daydreamer. Lord love a duck: A child of the coast destined to rule and conceived in the month of the eaten red moon will make an alliance of the heart to set the mighty as pawns and drive out the tainted blood rising in the south. There was no wonder my neighbors wanted to kill me.

My sister had quickly, albeit reluctantly, married to forestall any more assassination attempts. She had gone further to make my royal status irrefutable, so whereas my breeding was from the streets, I was still a princess. I no longer had to marry whoever was best for the kingdom, and in the few months I'd been free of the kingdom's demands, I'd found that freedom was heady, taking more strength to rein in than I was sometimes willing to exert. Especially when it concerned attractive, clever, bad-for-me men like Duncan, who liked to scheme and was as good at it as perhaps even Kavenlow.

Seeing him now in his mix of worry and anger, I reached out as he stood to go. “Please stay?” I asked, taking his damaged hand, and he hesitated, his shoulders easing. It looked fine, the injury so deep that it only showed when he needed the greater finesse to move his cards.

Duncan leaned against a support post to balance against the boat's motion, his red hat brushing the low ceiling. Pulling from my grip, he watched with me as his hand moved in a gesture as smooth and even as royal silk, pulling a card from under his hat with two fingers and tucking it in the box with the rest. “It's the cold,” he said, knowing it wasn't.

I made a face to try to break him out of his mood. “Don't think so,” I said saucily. “I've always been able to spot you cheating.” I playfully reached out and took one of his sweets, popping it into my mouth and arching my eyebrows.

“Hey!” he cried in mock distress. “I spent half a purse on those.”

My tongue ran over the inside of my teeth to get every last bit of sticky amber. “Nuh uh. I caught you. I deserve at least three.”

Lurching in time with the boat, he sat beside me on my side of the table. His brow smoothed when I didn't shift away, and his hand went out to take mine. Unlike my sister's, my skin was as dark as his, my fingers having faint calluses in places most people had smooth skin. A soft smile took me, seeing how small my hand looked within his. He was so close, I could smell the dye from his hat. I should have moved, but I didn't.

My pulse increased, and I watched his eyes. An eager feeling of daring lifted through me, and my breath caught. I let him turn my hand over, and he dropped a handful of caramels into my palm. “I bought them for you,” he said as he curled my fingers over them.

I met his solemn expression with a smile that was probably besotted. “Thank you.” I dropped the sweets into a pocket and shifted closer under the excuse of a wave, reaching to check the topknot my long curls were in. It was a nervous habit that brought a knowing glint to Duncan's eyes. He leaned closer, and my eyes widened.
Oh heavens, he's going to kiss me. It's about chu-pits time!

Another bang from the royal apartment brought my head around. “To get some air!” came a furious shout. It was Contessa, one hand on her gathered skirts, the other reaching like a blind man as she struggled to make her way up the narrow aisle to the common room. I reluctantly eased away; my sister had the timing of an aunt with nothing to do but play chaperone.

Alex was behind her, managing the rocking boat well in his shiny boots, snug-fitting breeches, and long-tailed coat of a rich green lined in gold. In his grace, he even managed to keep his sword, at his side despite the security of the boat, from smacking anything.

“Let me help you, Contessa,” he said gallantly, a devious smile about his thin lips as he nodded first to me, then Duncan. His light dusting of freckles, fine blond hair, and trim, small-waisted figure brought to mind his murderous, power-crazed brother—the one who took over my palace and murdered my adopted parents. The similarities of the two brothers had bothered me greatly until I realized that apart from their outward appearance, they were as different as salt and sand.
Thank God.

“I don't want your help,” Contessa muttered, red spotting her pale cheeks as she tottered to the steps. “I'm trying to get away from you.”

“Contessa, love . . .” Green eyes sparkling, he reached to help her, and she jerked away, jewelry chiming. Giving him a potent glare she must have learned at the feet of the nuns who raised her, she struggled up the steps. The wind whipped her unbound hair into her eyes and made her skirt flare out. I'd have a wickedly hard time getting the yellow strands untangled tonight. Steadying herself, she stomped in her tiny boots to the railing and out of sight.

Tempting fate, Alex ran a hand over his clean-shaven cheeks and followed the petite woman up. The quick-minded prince was bored, and teasing my sister was apparently the only thing he could find to do. Unfortunately, Contessa's provincial temper made her an easy mark.

The mood broken, Duncan slid down the bench a smidgen. He took three cards from his deck and practiced moving them in and out of hiding, the motion intentionally slow as he stretched and strengthened muscles. I was fascinated in that I could have sworn that he put the sun card in his sleeve but it was the huntsman he took back out.

Both our heads rose when Haron stomped downstairs and to his bunk, still grumbling. The first mate had the night watch, and I knew it was too early for him to be up. The faint sounds of Alex alternately trying to calm down Contessa and drive her to distraction grew louder over the creak of rope and wash of water. A sigh shifted my shoulders.

“Are you going to stop him?” Duncan asked when the sharp click of Haron's door shutting came to us. “She sounds ready to slap him.”

Weary of it, I shook my head. When I had accepted the position of Costenopolie's ambassador at my sister's request, I had thought it would mean I would be smoothing great political problems, not acting as nursemaid and arbitrator between my sister and her new husband.

“No,” I said, folding my arms on the table and dropping my head onto them. “I told her he's doing it to see her stomp her feet and put a blush on her cheeks, but she doesn't listen.”

“Maybe she likes it.”

“That's my guess.” I tilted my head to see him past my brown curls. Contessa was anything but even-tempered. Despite being a mirror copy of our deceased mother, one would never know she was a queen by the amount of caterwauling she did. That's why the nuptial holiday. Under the advice of Kavenlow, I was trying to instill the provincial woman with some polish as she met the people for whom she was now responsible. It wasn't working. And though I liked Prince Alex, he wasn't helping.

The word “execution” and “hungry thief,” quickly followed by “barbaric” were a veritable feminine shriek, and Duncan shifted uncomfortably. The argument about changing Costenopolie's policy on suspected criminals had started this morning when we slipped from harbor. I should step in—if only to get them to stop talking about executing thieves where Duncan could overhear. He wasn't a thief; he was a cheat. There was a difference. Sort of.

“Maybe you're right,” I said, gathering my skirts to rise, pausing at Duncan's hand on my shoulder. Surprised, I turned, blinking at the worry and the hint of pleading in his eyes.

“Tess. You don't owe her anything. You owe Kavenlow even less. Why won't you—”

Pulling from his hand, I stood, cutting him off and catching my balance at one of the support planks over which the deck was built. “I owe her everything. I owe Kavenlow my life for pulling me from the gutter. Nothing is keeping you here. If you want to go, that's fine, but she needs me. Costenopolie needs me.” Frustration at the old argument made my words harsher than I had intended, but I wouldn't drop my eyes.

He made a scoffing bark of laughter, slumping back. “God save you, Tess. Costenopolie won't fall if you leave it,” he said bitingly, then pinched his brow to soften his words.

I flushed. Actually, it might. Eventually. But I couldn't tell him that. He had no inkling that a continentwide game of hidden conquest swirled under the veneer of royal power. Very few did. I had been raised in the palace, and even
I
hadn't known until Kavenlow told me of the magic for which he had been secretly building my strength.

I said nothing while the frustration shifted behind his eyes. He knew he was welcome to stay at court as long as he wanted, but as a player, I couldn't allow myself to get close to anyone lest he be used against me by a rival. All Duncan knew was that I wouldn't allow more than a fleeting kiss, and I knew it confused him when he saw my willingness in an unguarded moment. Things had been a lot easier when I'd been the crown princess.

“I'm not leaving her,” I said, stepping from behind the table. “For you, or anything.” Grabbing the ladder, I started up, hiding behind my responsibilities as ambassador. I felt like the bottom of a chu pit for my lies of omission and my lack of trust in him.